


for small creatures such as we

by Anonymous



Series: 【ｏｒｐｈｅｎ        •        ｗｒｉｔｅｓ】 [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hybrids, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29898264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: (the vastness is bearable only through love)or where quackity learns that love does not always include bloodied lips, and bruised fists. and perhaps there is life outside the orphanage after all. (syndicate au)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: 【ｏｒｐｈｅｎ        •        ｗｒｉｔｅｓ】 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203674
Comments: 22
Kudos: 158
Collections: Anonymous





	1. midas put his hands on me again. (he said one day i'll realize why i don't have any friends)

**Author's Note:**

> an: this in no way ships the content creators, instead this is a work if fiction that includes their characters in dsmp. if this reaches them, this story will be discontinued and deleted. and if they express any discomfort with this work, it will be discontinued and deleted. techno has stated that he does not want to be shipped with other content creators so please respect his wishes. 
> 
> otherwise, i dedicate this to y'all twisted fucks.
> 
> [03/09/21] always refer to tags for trigger warnings. if you know anyone who is a victim of sexual assault, please encourage them to get help and contact local hotlines. since ao3 works differently from ffnet i'm not aware from which country majority of the demographic of those who read this work is. so it will be up to you, to reach out and seek help from the proper authorities. please do not forget to self-care.
> 
> [03/09/21] ¡hola! just published a qnb fantasy au under the title:  
> [ _ ****_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944455)
> 
> ##### [ _ **they only circle back**_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944455)
> 
> you can find it in orphen writes series! 
> 
> ps, anon orphen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quackity has lived all his life with the orphanage, when he gets out he doesn't expect to be alive long enough to know where this escape could take him. until he meets someone quite a bit like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from: 100 letters (halsey)

_for small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love_. —ᴄᴀʀʟ ꜱᴀɢᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴɴ ᴅʀᴜʏᴀɴ, ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ. 

quackity remembers when schlatt was kind. he remembers his voice low and whispered when it's dark and quackity feels more alone than he is. he remembers a tune to his lullaby, but he cannot remember the words.

because it was ages ago and even then the memory has no face. schlatt was kind once. he knows that with certainty, though not the same can be said to all his more prominent memories of him. he hasn't known any one who knew his tongue when everyone spoke another language. 

but every act of kindness has an end. so quackity learned and he learned quick. he learned their tongue and spoke when spoken to. he spoke the language like it was his. he even became the loudest at the orphanage. 

— _the orphanage!_

quackity bolts upright remembering the orphanage. 

**×**

he'd been running. 

and the other orphans were chasing him like a mad version of a manhunt right in the heart of the city. 

he immediately looks around eyes barely adjusting to the dark. quackity could feel fear leaping in his veins like second nature. he is laying on what feels like a bed that smells like freshly washed blankets but the room itself smells like old mold. and that there is a lump of something that's sitting on the corner of the room. he fixes his attention to the lump, straining his ears to hear any sound of movement.

it doesn't seem to be schlatt, there's no tell tale of his usual cologne. or alcohol. so it's not the orphanage. they haven't caught up with him yet. but worse case a pervert has gotten him. 

"you're awake," it speaks. quackity jumps off the bed, infinitely aware his wings are banadaged. and that it wasn't before. he yelps when pain finally registers to him. quackity was built for speed and for small talks with men and women in dimly lit rooms who drinks too much.

he was not built not for pain.

"who the _fuck_ are you," he demands anyway. he realizes he's on the floor, his ankles he doesn't remember injuring but it is. pain thrums in every part of his body. 

"i'm sam," the man says. and quackity squints trying to see movement. but the man does not move. _jesus christ_ , if quackity is lucky this guy's just a voyeur. "we're in some motel downtown. you crashed into me in an alley a couple of blocks down. you said someone was chasing you."

the way he talks was very gentle. quackity hated it. he hated the consideration and kindness in the man's voice. he needs something.

_everyone needs something and it's always in guise of kindness._

and quackity knows he will have to give it either way because that's the only way he could stay alive for the night with the orphans hunting him. until he manages to find a way out of town alive.

quackity shifts his body, biting back the urge to whimper in pain. the man has made no move yet. if he pushes his luck maybe he could promise the guy anything tomorrow. he'll wake up and he'll get out of this guy's hair before this guy even realizes it.

"thanks," he mutters. "i don't have money to repay you. but if there's anything—" he paused artfully, "just until _tomorrow_."

"what happens tomorrow?" the man asks smoothly. 

"you know," quackity says half delirious with pain finally catching up with him, "— _payment_. i can't pay now."

there's a long pause. the man hums softly that quackity almost misses it. "get back on bed, you'll injure yourself. i needed to stay the night anyway."

" _wha—_ " quackity realizes his voice has slurred sometime with trying to stay awake. next thing he knows he's being lifted and he's on the bed again. "— _anks_ ," he grumbles. " _you._..?"

"i don't sleep." but he's fast asleep before he could even manage to ask what the man meant.

quackity dreams of the lullaby schlatt used to sing. and he hates it but it's the only comfort he knows.

**×**

the next moment quackity's awake he registers danger in his bones. like the prey part of him telling him to run. he doesn't jolt awake this time. but he's awfully aware he's in a room with something dangerous.

quackity barely remembers his conversation last night but he knows he promised the man anything.

someone is moving around the room. the man from last night walking around, shifting and murmurs. he realizes the man must be talking to someone. he hears a click and his body tenses.

"you're awake," he says. the curtains are still close. and quackity can see sun rays through. "if you need to stay for one more day, you could but i'll be leaving tonight."

quackity takes a deep breath. and lifts himself up. he looks at the man for the first time and flinches violently when he sees green scale like skin with a splatter of darker shade. the man's thin mouth lifts slightly into a smile, but it doesn't reach his dark eyes. his yellow irises glow against the dark sclera as he studies quackity's reaction. there's no bridge where his nose should be but he has nicely kept hair parted at the side and styled almost human like in fashion.

"is it the first time you've seen a _mob_?" the question catches quackity off guard.

 _jesus christ._ but it's true he has never seen one up close. aside from one _way too long ago_. he was never really been a part of the butcher orphans because he had never been strong enough. and because schlatt favored him at his side as an eye candy. all he knows are stories from other orphans who survived the acquisition of mob-hybrids. and there were very few.

_isn't mob cum poisonous? oh god._

his ears are ringing. a small part of him dies when he realizes this man was even larger than quackity thought he'd be. he can't run or fly injured and he can't fight someone with this built. quackity could still try to talk his way out.

but giving in is _easier_.

he composes himself, ignoring the scream of his sore body. at least it hadn't been as bad as yesterday. "you want the _payment_ now, big guy?"

"you've been asleep for two days," the man informs him mildly. quackity frowns thinking how it only felt like yesterday when he woke up in this room.

"you should eat first," the man gestures to the side of the bed where there's bread and a convenience store soup lies. 

he walks over and quackity tenses even more than he knew he could. he anticipates because he knows it's better knowing that pain is coming than the heart break of surprise and mortification of the shock. 

schlatt loved watching him wince and flinch sometimes so quackity tried not to.

but the pain doesn't come. the man leans in a bit and holds the plastic bowl between his palms. he lets go and walks away just as quietly as he came close enough.

quackity reaches out to touch the plastic and flinches almost immediately when he feels the heat on the container. 

_oh_ , he thinks, this guy _is_ a creeper hybrid. he has the core of the earth within him. so quackity slowly reaches out again and smiles despite himself. he thinks he really hasn't eaten in days.

"i'm leaving town. do you have anywhere you can go to?" 

quackity weighs his options. 

he still doesn't know what the guy wants. and he's a mob-hybrid unlike quackity who was a animal-hybrids. on one hand, schlatt would never suspect he'd be with a creeper hybrid. and if they do get caught it would be easy to sell out the guy. 

maybe then he would win schlatt's affection back. even if that meant only a few days of reprise until the man drowns another bottle. and forgets everything quackity has done for him in the past few days. 

"there's a town south from here that speaks your language," the man continues. 

quackity removes the lid from the soup, grateful for the sent of ginger that wafts from it."you were talking in your sleep," the man adds when quackity pauses.

he wonders if the food was drugged. the worse case was that it was and he'd wake up in the dumpster sore and missing a few feathers as souvenirs. because that's a thing with humans, it might be a thing with mobs.

"my family is waiting home for me," he tells the man. 

if the man sees through his lie, he doesn't show it. instead he tells him, "that's good. i could lead you far enough to the outskirts tonight if you want. but i'm headed north."

"what's in the north?" quackity asks before he realizes. fuck, he thinks, he hadn't even let the man's offer sink in.

" _home_ ," the creeper hybrid says simply.

that made sense. quackity knows schlatt has been sending spies up north but nobody comes back alive. or dead. nobody comes back whether human or hybrid.

the terrain was hard for animal hybrids to cross unlike mob hybrids. but mob hybrids made more money than animal hybrids in the pit. so schlatt wanted them.

mob hybrids were vicious and harder to acquire. especially the hybrids that were part of project chaos. schlatt still wants his hand on the very few that survived. but project chaos was centuries ago, no one knows if the surviving projects were even still alive.

schlatt thinks they are though. he thinks they're alive up north hiding among the mobs and the hybrids that had taken into hiding.

"is your family waiting in the south?" the man asks, and quackity takes a spoonful of soup to avoid the conversation. "i know an bird hybrid that lives up north," he states.

quackity takes a long time to answer. and when he does, he does it with a question, "are you schlatt's lackey?"

the man frowns, and quackity sees him lean back against the only other chair in the room in his peripheral. "are you schlatt's orphan?"

"you're not answering," quackity returns.

"and so are you," the man responds. 

quackity puts the plastic spoon down. and stares at the half consumed soup. they're quiet for a long time that quackity finally looks up at the man. unnervingly the man is staring at him.

 _jesus christ_ , quackity jumps in place when he meets the man's unnatural eyes. 

"you ran into me in an alley saying you're being chased. you're a bird hybrid with a broken wing and an injured ankle. you have a _brand_ on your left chest," he says in the same gentle voice that makes him sound like an adult talking to a child. 

quackity grabs unto his chest protectively and glares head-on at the man at the mention of it.

"you're schlatt's orphan," he concludes. "unless you knew there was someone there at that place and time."

" _fuck you, hijo de puta"_

"that's not very nice," he says. "we can start from the beginning, i'm sam and i'm heading north. and you are?"

quackity bites the inside of his cheeks. it's all going off the left field. so he relents, "quackity." 

the man already knew the truth. he didn't have a family down south. everyone knew the orphans that were under schlatt's care had no family or no one that wanted them enough anyway. the orphanage was for animal hybrids that the society doesn't want. that's why schlatt got away with many many things behind the pseudo charity he ran.

it was an open secret that the orphans were his lackeys and hunters. that some of them he pit against each other for money. and some like quackity he sold in prostitution. 

it didn't matter if he was an animal hybrid himself. schlatt did what was lucrative. 

"who are you?" quackity asks sharply.

"like i said, i'm sam."

quackity clicked his tongue. "you said unless i knew you were going to be there at that place at that time. who are you?" 

sam, the creeper hybrid, hums. this time his hum sounds a lot like a low hiss. "you're smart, quackity. but if this is a ruse because i'm a mob hybrid, it's very elaborate." his eyes flashes in a second, "then again all lies are elaborate."

"if this was a ruse i would have fucked you the first night."

"and you have been since you came," sam replies. "i'll have you know i'm not interested in children."

"i've fucked someone _twice_ your age."

sam's face contorts into a strange expression but he doesn't look away, nor does he look at him with pity. the latter quackity is familiar with from the other emotionally attached patrons that schlatt has given him to.

particularly that docile demon that schlatt has been meaning to win over to his side. he never fucked quackity, but he'd always look at him with a look of pity.

quackity hated it. but he loved the attention that demon used to give him. it was the closest thing to affection he knows of.

"there's a village up north where hybrids mob and animal alike live free from the threat of the orphanage."

this was far _too_ easy. quackity has spent his life waiting for the other shoe to fall. if he knows for something that's easy, it's that there's a catch.

"and you'd take me there? i could be schlatt's spy for all you know."

but sam only says in a placating voice, "yes, you could be."

**×**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_playlist:_**  
>  • 100 letters —halsey  
> • churchyard —aurora  
> • ultraviolence —lana del rey  
> • if i killed someone for you  
> —alec benjamin  
> • many of horror —biffy clyro  
> • most of us are strangers —seafret
> 
> [03/08/21] this chapter has been edited.


	2. there's a skeleton in every man's house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quackity has skeletons in his closet. but so does everyone anyway. it doesn't make it any easier though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please refer to tags for trigger warnings. i noticed that i had initially written that quackity hasn't seen a mob hybrid. but he has just not up close aside from that one time way back. i've also made mob and animal hybrids different categories in case you didn't notice. reminders too in case you forget, this is a modern au. 
> 
> playlist at the end of the chapter. aka songs i listened to while conceptualizing this chapter. y'all should make a spotify playlist for it! i ass songs per chapter. i would do that myself and link it here but that would jeopardize my anonymity.
> 
> also minors reading this, i see you. i advice you to stop. the internet is a dark dark place. so is this au. otherwise, no beta we die like men, you twisted fucks.
> 
> title from: perfect blue buildings (counting crows)

_beneath the dust and love and sweat that hangs on everybody. there's a dead man trying to get out._

—ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʀᴏᴡꜱ, ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢꜱ.

when quackity was twelve, he stood naked against the wall along the others as the older orphans sprayed water at them. they were to be segregated.

he knew with certainty back then that there were only two kinds of evil in the world. one that was pure and the other that was only lesser. a boy only a year older than him had once grabbed him by the hand and told him never to meet schlatt's eyes. or else they would take him. the devil comes in many forms, sometimes it takes form of the goat hybrid that runs _the orphanage._

but quackity couldn't survive _the pit_. his only redeeming quality were his wings and even then he was a duck hybrid, and he couldn't even use them enough for advantage. 

he was a prey, he couldn't hunt like a predator. those stationed in the city were precisely for hunting other hybrids. the options were clear through his young mind. there was only one way to survive long enough, there was only one lesser evil. 

the boy next to him was taken to the pit as soon as schlatt saw the splotches of charred skin and exposed bones on his body. quackity knew him once when they didn't have names but numbers. schlatt took one look at the boy and christened him _sapnap_ and sent him to hell.

but sapnap had always been brave. maybe it was the mob in him. or maybe it was just because quackity was a big coward. he took one last look at quackity and left with the guards with his chin up.

when schlatt looked at quackity, it was easy for him to just sell him away. but quackity looked up to him through his wet lashes, fluffed his wet wings a bit. and hoped his duckling yellow feathered wings would catch the man's favor.

_one evil lesser than the other._

**×**

quackity wakes up to the smell of bleach clogging up his nostrils. he remembers the strained conversation with the mob hybrid, but he doesn't remember what happens next. 

the door to the small decrepit bathroom opens, and quackity sees the creeper hybrid walk out. he keeps everything dark, never turning on the lights. quackity wonders if it's a mob in him that likes walking around in the darkness.

"there's clothes beside you, you need to change," sam instructs. "when you're done, give me those used clothes."

"what are you, a _pervert_?"

"yes," sam snorts humorly. "please take them off, i love the smell of bleach as much as the next person."

the clothes folded on the table next to him are deliberately for hybrids with wings. quackity has only worn tailored clothes for winged hybrids if he was meeting someone important. or if schlatt wanted to show him off. 

the cloth is soft but too thick for the weather in the city and a size bigger than him. he doesn't remember wearing thick clothes or loose ones. 

"i didn't know your size— _do you need help?_ " sam asks. and quackity glares at his dark figure. he isn't sure if sam could even see but it's the thought that counts. 

"is this a ruse to see my body, _buddy_? because all you could have done was ask." quackity sneers. but he knows he does. his wings are injured and maneuvering them will be hard. 

there's an exasperated sigh from the other, and quackity feels dumb all the same.

sam crosses the room in long strides making quackity wince in every footstep. he grips the cloth in his hands. 

"the weather up north is cold. you will probably need to cover up more since you're not used to the cold so i chose thicker clothes," sam tells him. he produces a foldable knife from his side, and quackity shakes at the sight of it. 

sam shows him the weapon, unfolding it in front of him smoothly. and then hands it to him. quackity is almost dumbstruck at the object in front of him. "use this to cut your clothes. but no funny business," sam tells him. but quackity's frozen in place, staring at it. "you do know how to use a knife, right?"

_he does._

when other orphans don't follow, they were cut. not feel enough to make a scar, but enough to hurt them. they were cut by other orphans under the orders of their handlers. quackity had been ten when he had to cut sapnap for not following the rules.

"you should probably—" quackity says trying to even his tone, but his voice shakes, "—not give me a knife."

sam doesn't say anything but he reaches out with his freehand to quackity's blood caked shirt. 

he starts cutting the ill fitted improvised shirt. the last of quackity's only belonging.

"they'll know who you are you know. there's orphans everywhere in the city," quackity says quietly as he lets sam cut off his bloodied clothes. 

sam hums in response, the same hissing sound he did earlier that day. "i actually bought a coat and sewed it so it could be worn by a winged hybrid."

"what—" quackity's mind haywires.

"i'm pretty handy at times," sam says and his mouth lifts up slightly. up close like this, quackity can see his uncanny glowing golden irises. 

"you have a pretty amber eyes yourself," sam comments and quackity looks down embarrassed to having said it out loud. 

schlatt _used_ to like his eyes too. until he didn't.

sam's own sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, the smell of bleach and chemicals too heavy on his skin. from the afternoon sun, spilling through the gap between the window and the curtain, quackity can see sam's almost human arms. there are traces of veins popping against his scale like green skin. he remembers sapnap's charred skin and exposed bones. and quackity thinks how different each mob hybrids are.

"what are you going to do with my clothes?" he asks desperately trying to change the subject. 

"i'm going to wash off the blood, dry it, and cut it to pieces then burn it," sam answers thankfully. "this way if they'll ever come across this place canine hybrids can't pin the scent of your blood anymore than they'll pin the smell of bodily liquids of the other motel patrons."

quackity feels like there's something more that he's not getting here. sam understood precautions and knew how to cover his track far too well. he wonders if sam was actually the lesser evil in this equation. 

everyone has a ghost they're running from. everyone's got a skeleton in their closet. even quackity— _especially_ him, he has those with names on them. sam probably has as much as schlatt given how prepared he is in an uncanny situation.

quackity does what he does best. 

"makes sense," he murmurs, impulsively trusting his first thought. maybe sam is _not_ the lesser evil in this equation, but quackity can cross that bridge when he gets there.

he never feels the knife against his skin, only the pull of the garment until it's completely off him. sam asks to touch his wings. but quackity's too used to handing his body to others whether they were gentle or not; or if they asked him or not. whatever semblance of autonomy he has for his body has been too long gone for him to care what another does to him. his body is only an instrument. but that doesn't mean he has to know every detail of his use.

so quackity nods and zones out. 

the next thing he notices is the door in the bathroom shutting close. quackity lays back down, and hopes to sleep dreamlessly.

_but he doesn't._

he dreams of perfect blue buildings, and a boy with callous hands and wide grins. he dreams of the blood that runs through the boys hands as he cuts it as a punishment. 

quackity dreams of watching a blaze hybrid boy burn his enemy to ashes. he dreams of the _recognition_ that passes the boy's eyes when he looks up to the podium where schlatt and his pose of pretty things sits at. 

quackity dreams of the fire extinguishing like what's left of him before schlatt.

he has skeletons in his closet: one of them is the boy he promised _not_ to leave.

**×**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you watch sam's streams, you can actually tell that the audio is slightly different than those from ones from other people's perspective. sam has a way of speaking that's extremely placating or something.
> 
> also note that big q's character here has gone through extreme trauma and has learned to dissociate himself from the abuse he has gone through over and over again. this does not mean however that this is everyone's reaction to both domestic and sexual abuse. that's a completely different ordeal. everyone's coping mechanism is different. big q's is to separate the autonomy of his body from the idea of himself as a person, as does most sex workers.
> 
> i wanted to build up his character before meeting techno. leave a comment while I figure out if replying would still keep me anonymous!
> 
>  ** _playlist:_**  
>  • the night we met —lord huron  
> • perfect blue buildings  
> —counting crows  
> • love is not enough —wet  
> • ferris bueller —flatsound  
> • i dreamt we spoke again  
> —deathcab for cutie  
> 


	3. lose my sights and leave my taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quackity and sam try to get out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ 𝗮/𝗻 ]  
>   
> i write on my phone so grammar mistakes and spelling mistakes are only noticed when i upload them. if you happen to notice this story getting bumped up without a new chapter that only means i'm in the middle of editing grammar and spelling mistakes. because who needs beta, amirite?  
>   
> protip: give it a read then listen to the playlist and then read it again maybe the plot would make sense better. the songs aren't solely for quackity btw, they're also like a sneak peek to the stories of people in his life.  
>   
> ALSO daily reminder not to share this au anywhere outside ao3 especially in cc stream chats. otherwise the story will be halted and deleted. then you'll never know what happens to karl and sapnap in the plot. you may only share this however within the community of a quacknoblade-centric discord (of those exists).  
>   
> this is a work of fiction and is in no means objectifying or sexualizing real people. on the contrary, this work features characters they portray in dream smp which in itself is a scripted roleplay. to avoid misinformation and misunderstanding i don't endorse this being shared in non exclusive sites such as twitter, tumblr, reddit, and others.  
>   
> btw is beastiality applicable for hybrids? anyway, enjoy, you twisted fucks!

_so i'm running in this space, lose my sights and leave my taste, evil come and evil go._

—ᴛʀɪᴄᴋʏ, ᴛʀɪʙᴀʟ ᴅʀᴜᴍꜱ

quackity's next waking hour is him hearing the door shut close, with quiet footsteps. he wakes up to sam talking to someone through his phone. it's dark outside now, only lamp posts outside illuminating the room through the gaps of the windows and curtains.

"— _i have an injured winged kid with me, phil,_ " he catches sam murmur. "i don't know much about wings," there's a pause and a short quiet laugh, " _no, no—not as large as yours. smaller mix of varying colors. is wil on his way?_ "

there's a deep sigh, and static from the phone. quackity tries to strain to here what the other line says but the next thing he hears is a clicking sound. and sam putting down the phone. 

"quackity," he calls out, like he already knows quackity is awake, "we _need_ to leave now."

 _need_ , quackity thinks, _is an interesting word to use._ he wonders if it wasn't too late to back out now. but when he lifts himself on bed, and sees the swollen ankle, he realizes that it _is_. 

schlatt will never find use of him now. the day quackity was branded, he could never be one of the pretty things the orphanage's owner would ever show off. he couldn't even be bid now. 

sam holds out his hand into quackity's vision, he realizes he's eyes are wet but refuses to cry. instead he accepts the hand offered to him. 

trust and hope were things that only naive people hold onto. and quackity? he was not naive. he accepts sam's hand but he knows he'll run as soon as the tides turn. right now, he doesn't have a choice. not having a but he will not let his guard down. 

schlatt will be a thing of the past. buried along with his boyhood innocence. 

the creeper hybrid's hand is warm and larger than his. he pulls up quackity with ease, that reminds him how weak he was—and how injured. sam lets quackity lean against the wall fishing something from his pocket. he produces a beanie which he hands to quackity. 

then he pulls out one of his large dark sweatshirts and hands it to quackity as well. sam slips off his black top, and slips on a navy green henly that stretches tightly across his chest. he puts on a hoodie pulling unto the strings over his head. 

quackity realizes he's staring when sam turns around and catches his eyes. 

"i'm injured," quackity reminds him. 

" _i know_."

"my wing is broken."

"only as far as the edge of the city, quackity," sam states, but there's a hint of pleading inflection in his voice. quackity doesn't understand this man. but he refuses to acknowledge the hint of softness in his voice. 

this man was only the lesser evil.

quackity closes his eyes, thinks of the worse he could have anyway. if he wants to live with all his limbs attached, he needs to get out of the city as soon as he could. so much for a customized jacket for winged hybrid, he thinks, as he ends up needing to wear something to hide despite having a broken wing. he slips into the sweatshirt, letting it constrict and cover the size of his wings. sam was larger than him, and the sweat shirt itself was even larger. it falls easily down almost past his knees. 

sam throws an almost empty bagpack on the bed. "carry that, it's not too heavy and it covers the lump of your wings," he instructs. he zips his bag close and pulls up a mask to cover his absence of a nose bridge. he wears a pair of sunglasses and pulls unto the drawstrings of his hoodie. "don't forget the beanie," he tells quackity over his shoulder.

quackity wears the beanie, tucking the few small feathers that grew behind his ears.

**×**

there is a boy that schlatt never touches but kept beside him among his harem of pretty things. he has dark hair that was same shade as schlatt's, button nose, two small bumps on high on his forehead, and a wide toothy grin. he's a few years younger than quackity but his eyes has the look of someone much _older_ despite the still roundness of his cheeks.

sometimes quackity envies him. on nights when schlatt meets _too_ important men and women, he doesn't bring quackity. instead he would dress up the boy and bring him. quackity has seen how schlatt talk about the boy, in public, like he were his own son; parading him like show pony to anyone who would listen. but only seldom so in private; and only ever so when he's too drunk and alone.

quackity also remembers in clarity how tubbo sinks into the man's embrace despite the loathe in his round boyish eyes. those days, he would die to be in tubbo's place. to be held by schlatt and to be the shoulder he leans on. schlatt was no less than a god of the underworld, and quackity would give anything to be a god's welcome home. if only schlatt would let him.

_he never does._

instead he searches it in the arms of a boy who hates him with his entire soul. quackity knows because he was no better. he recognizes himself in the kid.

but he also loved— _loves_ schlatt. he loves the man because it was instinct. quackity was naive once. and he still doesn't know how to stop. loving schlatt was finding comfort in the midst of burning. but love is like that, _isn't it?_

sometimes though quackity does not envy tubbo at all, especially behind closed doors. schlatt never touched tubbo the same way he touched all his pretty things. but he still hurts him either way with his backhanded insults, and his bony knuckles.

even the things precious to schlatt, he hurts.

when quackity came, tubbo was only just eight. and quackity watched the him grow over the years to the cold young man that he is despite the innocence of his looks. he has seen tubbo shoot someone from the podium, his small body handling his gun's shot recoil easily. 

and he had seen the pride in schlatt's eyes.

quackity sometimes wonders what it's like to have a father; wonders how it feels like to feel someone's embrace without having to tighten his asshole in every thrust.

**×**

they leave the room separately, quackity knows he could chance to run from the hybrid. but when he hears a familiar yip in a distance, he decides to fuck it and go through with sam. the likelihood of running from the orphans were extremely slim despite not being injured. with a creeper hybrid quackity could have a human shield or he could easily turn coats if they can't run.

he meets sam in an alley across a convenience store where he walks out right as quackity is about to pass by. he's got his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he adjusts the heavy bag and quackity takes this as a sign and turns to the nearest alley when they hear a gekkering behind them. 

he knows it's _fundy_. 

he knows the fox hybrid found him. fundy was the only one smart enough to be able to track his approximate location despite all precautions they've taken. 

quackity's ears are ringing with adrenaline. theoretically if he takes the fox hybrid by surprise, he can outmaneuver him. fundy was smart but he was also reckless. but only if fundy was alone 

beads of sweat run down quackity's temples as he spreads his legs in a stance, ready to launch into a sprint at any time. he's half expecting fundy to assault him as soon as he's alone. 

but fundy never comes.

instead something reptilian, crawls from the corner of his eyes. sam lands in front of him, without his bag. he cocks his head to the side, and quackity follows.

someone opens a door, lights and loud music spilling right through.

quackity is almost ready to turn on his heels, but sam heads straight to it. he hesitates for a second, breathe hitching. but the creeper hybrid doesn't even look over his shoulder.

the door leads to the back door of a bar, that as much quackity recognizes. the orphans, he knows, stay away from this one establishment. 

because the owner was schlatt's _associate_.

**×**

they make it through without being stopped. sam leads him to what looks like the employees locker, where a man sits on the bench alone. he looks up when they enter, and quackity steps back at the sight of the man.

" _what the fuck_ ," he whispers whipping towards sam. the man looks over at quackity and then at sam. 

"he'll be here in fifteen minutes." sam nods at this, as the man stands. he lifts what looks like to be the sam's bag from beside him and hands it over to sam. 

"be safe," he adds as he walks between them. shoulders hitting quackity's incidentally. 

"did you just _fucking_ sell me, you fuck?" he demands, launching himself towards sam, hands reaching out to the hybrid's collar. sam catches his wrists in mid air, gripping tight. he closes the distance between both thin wrists until he manages to grip both in one hand. 

"no," sam says exasperatedly. quackity jumps in place, pummeling his wait to kick at sam's legs. he manages to hit sam's knees who yelps in surprise and let's go.

quackity knew he shouldn't trust anyone. he knew all along. but he'd let himself get carried away. he whips on his heels, ready to sprint out. 

only to knock hard against a metal pointing at his head. he doesn't have time to react, because he's already staring at a barrel of a gun.

"i was told to deliver you back to the north," the gun's weilder says in a low gravely tone. the man from before is at a spot behind him, looking straight at sam's figure groaning behind quackity.

"what—" quackity mutters confused and panicked all at once. the man undoes the safety, and the click echoes through quackity's head. blood rushing in his ears as he's infinitely aware of the blaring music and the smell of lavender air conditioner wafting from the guy in front of him.

quackity's eye level is only up to the man's chest, and given the weapon staring straight at him, he make san effort not to move. the man's almost a head taller than him, broad strong shoulders covered in red.

the person grunts, "not you, _fool_." he makes a small aborted move and quackity holds his breath, almost ready to die. but the man speaks again evenly, "i meant sam. phil sent me."

"thank you, techno," sam says from behind quackity. the man behind this techno guy clicks his tongue, and shakes his head.

"' _knew the was boy's no good_ ," he throws casually but his eyes reflects differently.

"he's good at heart, i swear," sam counters without bite. "techno, please don't point the gun at the kid. you're scaring him."

the man grunts, making a confused nasal sound, "heh?" but does so lower the gun fortunately. 

quackity finally cocks his head up and meets two orbs of glowing red eyes, a large full snout, and a pair of sharp tusks curving up, protruding from each side of his lower mouth.

"quackity, this is techno, he'll be helping us up north—" sam says softly, but fatigue finally catches up with quackity. 

he faints midway their conversation.

**×**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_playlist:_**  
>  • gods & monsters —lana del rey  
> • beg —cheats  
> • how to never stop being sad —dandelion hands  
> • you always hurt the ones that love you —the mills brothers  
> • tribal drums —tricky
> 
> ps, i still haven't figured out if replying to comments will keep me anon. thank you very much for leaving comments tho! it gives me peer affirmation please please please keep doing it while i have a crisis of if it's possible to reply in anon.


	4. kill your darlings (breathe in the hurricane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _tubbo?_ tubbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the person who left me a comment, i might not be able to publish that comment because it contains your discord handle, but thank you for informing my computer illiterate ass! but i don’t want to risk you being doxxed from the comment section of my work. also! i actually read your works, and im so flattered you found this work interesting. so uhh u know who u r. _uwu_
> 
> title from: kill your darlings (mesh)

_you've got to kill your darlings, breathe the hurricane. and we can start all over again._

—ᴍᴇꜱʜ, ᴋɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢꜱ.

sam catches quackity, before he falls all the way to the ground and stops the boy quick enough to avoid hitting his head on any surface. he can hear ponk swearing behind techno as he pushes the piglin-hybrid to the side.

"does he have concussion?" the man asks as his hands examine the boy's abdomen. "internal _bleedin_?"

"he remembers his name and that he’s on the run," sam confirms as he hooks his arms under quackity's knees, lifting the boy up. “i don’t know with internal bleeding because he’s been asleep for two days, waking up sporadically from nightmares.”

“didja feed the boy?” sam narrows his eyes at that but replies, “i gave him water because he wasn’t awake long enough for anything else.”

ponk gestures to the bench, and he follows suit. he slowly puts the boy down, as ponk fishes his phone from his pocket.

"wait here, i’mma call—" ponk stops midway, and sam looks up to see ranboo by the door with a nervous smile. a glint catches his eyes, and he sees a barrel of a gun pushed against the boy's stomach from the side. the person holding the gun is hidden beside him. sam snaps towards techno who catches his eyes but only grunts unaffected from where he stands.

"— _funny story_ ," ranboo says in a shaky voice.

"i'm glad you find this funny, ranboo," sam replies easily.

ranboo scrunches his face at him, offended, but continues, "i was back at the getaway car, _i swear_ , and—well someone paid me a visit."

"tommy is not with us, tubbo," techno says evenly, as he puts a finger on the trigger of his own gun. he's a sharp shot, sam knows. but they don't risk it. so instead sam stands up slowly, putting himself between the door and the boy on the bench. ponk steps beside him.

they watch the metal barrel move, glinting against the dim lights of the room. ranboo takes a step forward.

and then another.

the person holding the gun, breezes on the spot behind ranboo. the barrel not leaving the hybrid's body. "i'm not here for tommy," tubbo says softly. ponk glances at sam unsure what he had said.

but both techno and sam heard the boy loud and clear.

"i'm here for _quackity_."

**×**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cliffhanger because i am now satisfied with the kudos clout i've gathered ( _thank you for the kudos, ao3 guests!_ ), i might put this work back into the only users archive. so make an account today! ~~please do not take back your kudos.~~
> 
> **_playlist:_**  
>  • kill your darlings —mesh

**Author's Note:**

> [03/08/21] changed rating from mature to explicit.  
> [03/09/21] set to for public viewership (for kudos clout) and public moderated comment section.  
> [03/10/21] added tag: dead dove do not eat. deleted duplicate chapter 4.  
> [03/11/21] for archiving purposes added work under series: orphen writes.


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